


The Seeker's Gambit

by kishafisha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, James Lives, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Lily Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:18:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishafisha/pseuds/kishafisha
Summary: Prompt: "An AU where Harry didn't lose his parents, grew up as a regular wizarding boy, and the Potters and Malfoys are like business archrivals, so Harry and Draco are still hostile towards each other when school starts, but then it turns into a Romeo and Juliet thing, only not trash."Or: the overly complicated way in which my mind responds to prompts.





	The Seeker's Gambit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenfyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenfyre/gifts).



> My dear [ravenfyre](http://archiveofourown/psueds/ravenfyre), I wanted so badly to finish this all in one go for you in time for the holidays, but I think we both know that it is entirely impossible for me to be straightforward about a plot. I hope you enjoy this first chapter and I solemnly swear I will now finish a chapter that I'm _supposed_ to be writing right now.
> 
> Currently not rated with the expectation to go Mature, possibly Explicit. Marked as underage, due to Harry and Draco being in their sixth year and not of proper age of consent in all countries.
> 
> Chapter warnings will be in the end notes.

The Slytherin Common Room was rarely troubled by cacophony, as the cool stones and watery refractions of light cast in by the lake lent to a hushed, dignified quality that dared not be broken by verbal discord. A quiet atmosphere led to better contemplation after all, and made it all the more challenging for one to try and overhear another’s secrets unnoticed while keeping their own intact. However subdued it was, all conversation abruptly fell to complete and total silence when Harry Potter stormed in from the dungeons, his footsteps echoing smartly off the stone and his expression nothing short of murderous.

Blaise Zabini looked up from his Advanced Potions essay and sighed when he caught sight of the newcomer, setting down his quill. “What’s Draco done now?” Receiving the full force of Harry’s glare, Blaise raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the display. “Oh come now, he’s the only one who ever gets you looking like that.”

“Where is he?” Harry bit out through clenched teeth, his annoyance at Blaise reading him so accurately only serving to worsen his mood.

“I’m certainly not his keeper,” Blaise commented mildly, but then he gestured with a seemingly careless indifference. “However, when last I saw him he was in the dormitory.”

Harry was moving as soon as Blaise had got the words out, ignoring the first and second year students that scattered out of his path as he marched toward the dormitories. No one dared try to stop him, though admittedly those in their later years didn’t even bother to pay the furious wizard any attention. They were used to dealing with the seemingly endless war between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Throwing open the door to the boys Sixth Year’s dormitory, Harry stomped inside and glared balefully at the sole occupant. Somehow the sight of the pureblood wizard sitting unmoving on the edge of his bed only fanned the flames of his anger, even as Draco stood up sharply. His pointed face was drawn and tired, but he still managed to sneer half-heartedly at Harry.

“Potter. What do you think you-“

Grabbing Draco by the front of his robes, Harry jerked him forward and very nearly growled, “Where. Were. You.”

Draco shoved away from him roughly, anger sparking in his grey eyes to match Harry’s. “Unhand me! What in Salazar’s name are you on about?”

“Quidditch try-outs, Malfoy. You do remember Quidditch, don’t you? Four balls, seven players, _broomsticks?_ ” Harry’s voice rose in volume as he laid into him. “What, now that I’m _Captain_ you’re just not going to bother?”

“Is that what you’ve got your knickers in a twist over, Potter? Bloody Quidditch?” Draco sneered, folding his arms across his chest. “I suppose I ought to be flattered, but really I think I pity you being so fussed about it.”

Harry was stunned and shook his head in disbelief, staring at the pale wizard as though he’d started speaking in tongues. For the past five years Draco Malfoy had been completely _insufferable_ in almost every aspect of Harry’s life at Hogwarts, but doubly so when it came to Quidditch. To be fair, Harry could admit that it had to have been rather infuriating when he had been named Slytherin Seeker in their first year. The youngest Seeker in a century, as a matter of fact.

Though their rivalry had technically begun at birth, it hadn’t truly become personal between the two of them until Professor McGonagall had seen Harry flying during their first lesson with Gryffindor and proceeded to march him straight to Professor Snape, swearing that if he wasn’t put on their team, she would petition the Headmaster to have him moved to her house straightaway. Naturally, Harry’s Head of House had immediately refused, only to find that McGonagall had in no way been bluffing and indeed petitioned Professor Dumbledore that very afternoon on the grounds that Harry had been a Hatstall between Slytherin and Gryffindor, delaying the Sorting Ceremony by a full fifteen minutes. At the time Harry had still been sore over how he’d been Sorted and had hoped beyond measure that this might be his redemption to his family name…no Potter had _ever_ been sorted into Slytherin.

Unfortunately, McGonagall’s eagerness and determination sparked the flame of competition in Snape and he’d suddenly fought just as hard to keep Harry in his house. However much the then Potions Master might have disliked Harry, though his mother constantly assured him otherwise, Snape absolutely _hated_ the thought of losing the Quidditch Cup to Minerva McGonagall. Professor Dumbledore had been delighted to see the fiery spirit of friendly competition roused within his staff members and devised a series of challenges in which they would compete for the honour of housing such a promising young flyer. McGonagall humoured the Headmaster as far as the Singing Competition before she forfeited.

While all this was happening, Draco had naturally contacted his father, who in turn contacted the Minister, the Governors, the Headmaster, the parents of the Slyterin Quidditch team members and Severus Snape himself. While Snape had been more than happy to allow Lucius Malfoy to purchase a fleet of new broomsticks for his team, he refused to let Draco play Seeker after all he’d done to secure Harry in the role. As a compromise, he’d instituted a new rule in the Slytherin house. Every year, every single member of the Quidditch team had to compete for their spot at try-outs.

For the past five years, Harry had easily made Slytherin Seeker while Draco was offered the choice between Slytherin Keeper and _Reserve_ Seeker. The thought of being reserve _anything_ was an utterly offensive notion to the pureblood and consequently the combination of Potter and Malfoy as Seeker and Keeper had proven to make Slytherin unstoppable. At least until Harry had been banned from flying by Dolores Umbridge halfway through last season, after he’d spoken out against the Ministry cover-up of Voldemort’s return. Then they had lost to _Hufflepuff_.

Those had been simpler times, of course… Before Harry found himself getting repeatedly drawn into the ever more difficult task of championing Neville Longbottom, the Boy Who Lived. Or rather the ‘Chosen One’, as the press had taken to calling him ever since Neville had convinced Harry and a few others to break into the Department of Mysteries. Harry rather thought they ought to refer to him as the Lucky Unfortunate instead, as he’d never known anyone else who could simultaneously suffer every possible misfortune while somehow coming out mostly unharmed. He was sure this had more to do with Hermione Granger and himself more than anything, but really…Neville had a talent for making life more complicated for Harry.

Despite the madness of Umbridge’s reign and Voldemort’s public return during last term, Harry had really been looking forward to getting his life at least a little bit back to normal; and Quidditch had been a big part of that fantasy. But then Draco Bloody Malfoy had to go and ruin everything by being a sodding prima donna instead of showing up for try-outs like he had _every other year_.

“Merlin’s pants, Malfoy! What is _wrong_ with you this year?” Harry demanded, throwing up his hands. “I’m going to have to let _Harper_ play Keeper, you understand that, don’t you? And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been cocking up your classwork… Hell’s bells you even _declined_ to attend Slughorn’s soiree.”

He fully expected Draco to make some snide remark about how Harry was obsessed with him and then they’d settle into one of their usual bouts. Insults against parentage and clever jibes would get thrown back and forth as they had so many times before until Blaise would get tired of it echoing out into the common room and would come to stop them acting like a pair of Gryffindor first years. Instead Draco’s expression shuttered and he pushed past Harry as though to leave the dormitory.

“Leave it, Potter.”

Absolutely incensed to be so abruptly dismissed, Harry caught Draco’s arm, “Don’t you dare just-“ he stopped as Draco sharply jerked his arm away, as though burned. His _left_ arm. With sudden horrifying clarity, Harry _knew_. “No…” he denied, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t…you’re not that _stupid_.”

Draco twitched slightly, but his features slid into a blank mask even as he forced a drawl. “What are you on about now?”

“Show me,” Harry challenged, stepping closer to Draco. “Let me see it, then. You must be so proud to have taken his mark, so why don’t you go on and show it off?”

“Let me pass,” Draco said through his teeth. Though they were of a height, the pale wizard did have a few inches on Harry and he used them now to try and shoulder past the Seeker.

Harry resisted and within moments they were scrapping like a pair of Muggles, pulling and shoving at the other in turn as Harry tried to get at Draco’s sleeve. Draco pulled his wand angrily, but Harry knocked it aside and tripped him to the floor. However desperate the taller wizard might be not to have his secrets revealed in the light of day, he couldn’t compete with Harry’s experience in physically wrestling them out of another. Siblings taught you valuable lessons like that. Pinning Draco to the floor, Harry finally caught firm hold of his wrist in one hand and his sleeve in the other, jerking the cloth down to expose his pale skin, marred by the ugly black lines of the Dark Mark.

“Happy now?” Draco whispered harshly, his face turned away from Harry and the mark. He closed his eyes when they burned with the threat of shameful tears, pressing his face into the silk rug beneath him.

Even though he’d known what he would find, Harry stared at the mark with some measure of disbelief, still holding his wrist tightly. “ _Why_ , Malfoy? Why would you _do_ this?” he breathed out, shaking Draco’s arm a little as though he could knock the mark free.

“What did you _think_ was going to happen, Potter?” Draco burst out, glaring up at him. “You were _there!_ You _saw_ my father fail the Dark Lord!”

It was true, Harry had been there to see Lucius Malfoy’s stricken expression emerge from the darkness of the Department of Mysteries when Neville had lifted and then _immediately_ dropped the delicate sphere of the prophecy he’d been lured there to claim. Harry took it as a sign of how little the enemy understood the supposed Chosen One, because Neville surely was one of the clumsiest people Harry had ever known. Rather than attack their ragtag group out of sheer pique as his Death Eater cohorts did, Lucius had withdrawn well before any suitable adult arrived on site to identify him. Naturally, the testimony of five teenagers, several of whom had been openly unfavourable toward Lucius Malfoy in the past, was not sufficient testimony to call for his arrest, especially when he’d managed to produce a flawless alibi when questioned.

“There _must_ have been another way-“ Harry began, but was quickly cut off.

“Another way to _what?_ To _die_ defying the Dark Lord? He’ll _kill_ my family!” Draco shouted and a few desperate tears escaped him. He shoved Harry roughly away and scrambled to his feet, turning and scrubbing a hand over his face, ashamed and angry to have shown such weakness.

Harry found his own footing more slowly, his brow furrowed. His whole life he had lived with the single, burning notion that Voldemort was evil and there was no other choice but opposition to his return. Part of him still wanted to stubbornly hold to this fact even now, but he was a Slytherin…he knew better than to see the world in black and white, even when it came to Voldemort. Taking a slow breath, Harry lifted a hand and placed it tentatively on Draco’s shoulder.

“Draco, I-“ he began, not really sure what he intended to say.

Pulling roughly away from the touch, Draco glared at him, his eyes hard. The tears were gone now, but there was still a redness to the steely grey of his gaze. “Just stay _away_ from me, Potter,” he ground out harshly and pushed past Harry. “My affairs do not concern you.”

The slam of the dormitory door seemed to echo through Harry’s body and he grimaced to himself, sighing in frustration. “That went well.”

“Who pissed in your porridge?” Millicent wondered archly, shoving at Harry as she sat down at the Slytherin table.

“Oi, budge over,” Harry growled and pulled his plate in closer. Millicent had no qualms about stealing choice bits off his plate like the shameless cow she was if he gave her half a chance.

“Lover’s quarrel,” Blaise commented, his dark eyes never leaving his book.

“Another one? What’s Draco done now, then?” she wondered, filling her own plate with a heaping serving of shepherd’s pie and two bratwursts.

“It’s Quidditch, of course. Harper can’t shut up about it,” Blaise told her disapprovingly, as though Harry weren’t there. “Our Captain here made him _Keeper_ today.”

“Not by choice,” Harry ground out irritably, glancing over at Draco for the umpteenth time that meal. The pureblood was sat further down the table bracketed between Gregory and Vincent and had been frowning dispassionately at his food since he’d sat down. Pansy had been trying to engage the sour faced wizard in conversation to no avail. “Harper was the only one who showed up to try for Keeper.”

“You and those _friends_ of yours did accuse his father of being a Death Eater at the end of last term,” Blaise reminded him helpfully. “I’m sure he appreciated having the family name splashed on the papers with that particular by-line.”

“Lucius Malfoy _is_ a Death Eater,” Harry muttered to himself, glaring at Millicent when she elbowed him.

“Watch yourself, Potter…remember where you are,” she told him. “Once the war starts in earnest, no one will care how many points you score for Slytherin.”

“I’ve no intention of being lynched by my own house,” he said with an irritated sigh. “I’ve got enough leverage to stay afloat a while yet.”

“Thanks to the Marauders, I expect. Though…that won’t mean much if we lose to Hufflepuff again,” Blaise pointed out.

“I’ll do you in myself if that happens,” Millicent said seriously, though with a hint of a smile. “Things are going to be worse than usual for us, thanks to the papers constantly reminding everyone how many Dark Wizards have been Slytherin. We can’t start losing now.”

“Funny that they all fail to mention how a Slytherin helped their Chosen One expose the Dark Lord’s return,” Harry complained.

“You have famously non-Slytherin parents who instilled their many virtues upon you, of course,” Blaise reminded him, as though Harry needed it.

For the majority of the summer Harry had to put up with the constant rumour that James Potter was a frontrunner to relieve Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. When Rufus Scrimgeour was finally established, Harry could not have been more relieved. Being known for the accomplishments of his parents rather than on his own merit was something he genuinely _hated_. It was impossible to live up to their seeming perfection and at every turn the world proved determined to undermine his own successes as proof of their good breeding.

“Make nice with Malfoy and get him back on the team,” Millicent ordered, pointing her bratwurst laden fork at Harry. “I can deal with Harper when you do.”

Looking over at Draco yet again, Harry honestly wished it were easy as that. Everything had been so much simpler this morning when his biggest concern was building his team in hopes of reclaiming the Quidditch Cup. Getting Draco back on the team would hardly solve the fact that he was irrevocably tied to Voldemort now. Unless… Harry sat up straighter as a thought came to him, grim determination settling in his heart. He didn’t need to get Draco on his _team_ …he needed to get Draco on his _side_.

“Euphie!” Harry called ahead as he jogged to catch up to the retreating figure.

Euphemia Potter turned at her brother’s call, her green eyes narrowing suspiciously as she broke away from her fellow Gryffindors. Though she was nearly two years his junior, she was old enough to become immediately suspicious whenever Harry came to seek her out unexpectedly, which was fair because he usually only did so when he needed something. Like help breaking into the Department of Mysteries.

“You have that look,” she accused him, brushing her auburn hair back behind an ear.

“What look?” he asked innocently. “Can’t I just want to talk to my sister?”

“You’re planning something…and it’s probably a terrible, dangerous idea,” she told him frankly, putting her hands on her hips. “Well? Let’s have it then.”

“I just need the cloak,” he admitted sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “And…the map.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she scowled at him. “You said I could take them this term. You _said_ you would be too busy with Quidditch to bother ‘sneaking about’ or ‘building armies’. Hermione’s still not pleased on that front, by the way.”

“Yes, well…” he began and was cut off from behind.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Draco Malfoy, would it?”

Ears pinking, Harry turned and glowered at Cygni, the Slytherin half of the Black twins, who had clearly followed him from the Great Hall. She and Corvus were, technically speaking, his half-siblings due to his mother’s surrogacy, which meant that at times they felt the need to be _extremely bothersome_. Harry was quite certain that he hadn’t been anywhere near so vexing at thirteen. Peter Pettigrew would likely disagree, but maybe he shouldn’t have been trying to pass as Weasley’s pet rat the same year Harry came to possess the Marauder’s Map.

“Why would it have anything to do with Malfoy?” Harry asked her, warning clear in his tone.

“Because you were staring at him all through dinner,” Cygni replied, matter-of-factly. “And because you made Harper our Keeper today.”

“Malfoy isn’t going to be Keeper?” Euphie asked, sounding eager all of a sudden.

“Not at present,” Harry admitted grudgingly.

“Excellent!” she declared, grinning boldly at Harry and Cygni’s sour expressions. “Keep him off the team and you can keep the cloak and map all year.”

“Resorting to blackmail?” he asked her. “I didn’t realize Gryffindor’s chances were quite so poor now that you were on the team.”

Her eyes gained a fiery glint that reminded him very much of his father and Harry knew he’d won, though it had been a low blow. Euphie might strongly favour their mother in appearance, her pride was all James Potter.

“I can fly circles around you any day, Harry!”

“You had better, if you’re going to be Gryffindor’s Seeker, _Euphemia_.”

“Augh!” she growled in frustration, throwing up her hands. “ _Fine_ , you can take them! We’ll crush you with or without Malfoy playing Keeper, so go ahead and work whatever _stupid_ scheme you’ve got planned.”

Harry beamed at her and winked. “Thanks, sis. I’ll just wait here while you get them, shall I?”

With another irritated sound, Euphie whirled on her heel and stomped up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Feeling smug to have won a bout with his sibling, he glanced down at Cygni, who was still shadowing him and looking quite pleased herself.

“Thanks for the assistance,” he told her.

“Corvus was _intolerable_ when we lost to Hufflepuff,” Cygni said darkly. “We were all counting on you to redeem us now that you’re Captain, but support is already wavering now that you’ve lost Draco.”

Jaw set firm in grim determination, Harry shook his head, his buoyed mood deflating. “I haven’t lost him. Not yet.”

Staring up into the dark void of his canopy, Draco felt as though a sword hung over him in the blackness, ready to strike at any moment. From the moment Harry had found out his secret, Draco had been waiting for the blade to fall upon his neck and the dreadful anticipation was _excruciating_. He wasn’t sure why Harry hadn’t immediately turned him in, sure that someone so arrogant as to have helped to start _Dumbledore’s Army_ would have had no qualms in marching straight up to the Headmaster and turning him over. It wasn’t as though he could hide the Dark Mark by magic, though Draco had certainly _tried._ He’d known from the moment the Dark Lord had insisted he take the mark prior to his leaving for Hogwarts that discovery and failure was the expectation.

Draco gripped his wand as the curtains stirred around his bed, his heart pounding so hard that he thought it might burst. Was this the plan then? To be taken silently in the night, disappearing without a trace? It was certainly preferable to the shame and humiliation that faced his family should he be exposed in the light of day, but if they thought Draco would go without a fight, they greatly underestimated his pride.

“Meet me in the common room,” Harry whispered unseen in his ear and Draco’s breath caught in surprise, flinching away from him.

The curtains settled soundlessly once more and a few moments later Draco thought he heard the faint click of the door opening over the crackle of the fire. Breathing out slowly, Draco swallowed thickly and licked his lips, debating it even as his mind raced with possible outcomes. Did Harry intend to duel him? Or perhaps to give him an ultimatum…surrender or run? Sitting up slowly, Draco ran a shaky hand through his hair, half-tempted to stay where he was just to spite Harry. Let him make a scene, wake the whole of the dormitory. Crabbe and Goyle would fight with him, for all the good that would do, and there would no doubt be many others to join the fray should they make a stand for the Dark Lord right here and now.

Slipping from his bed, Draco silently dressed in trousers and a turtleneck; whatever was going to happen, it would not occur while he was in a dressing gown and house slippers. He briefly considered his robes, but if he had to run they would only run the risk of tripping him up. Leaving the bed curtains closed to disguise his absence, he could see in the dim firelight that Harry had done the same. Gripping his wand, Draco steeled himself, then quietly left the dormitory, heading for the common room and whatever it was that Harry had planned.

Wand raised at the ready, Draco scanned the empty common room as he stepped cautiously inside, the back of his neck prickling as he tried to listen for Harry’s whereabouts. A shimmer caught his eye and he tensed as air seemed to ripple and then part, revealing Harry as the silvery fabric of his Invisibility Cloak fell away. He had his own wand held aloft and ready, but neither of them moved, each regarding the other for a long, tense moment. Finally, Draco sighed and lowered his wand, shaking his head as he found himself caught between frustration and relief. Harry wasn’t going to attack him.

“You’re a fool,” he accused Harry, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“I’m not the one dressed like a cat burglar,” Harry pointed out, gesturing at Draco’s black turtleneck and slacks as he put away his wand.

“Why would anyone burgle _cats?_ ” Draco asked, smoothing a hand down the front of his turtleneck self-consciously. Harry himself was wearing scuffed denim and a Chudley Cannons jumper, so Draco hardly felt his opinion on anyone’s wardrobe was warranted.

Harry snorted and grinned briefly, but shook his head. “It’s a Muggle thing.”

“Of course it is,” he said snidely. Drawing up to his full height, he gave Harry a haughty look, raising a pale eyebrow. “Was there any point to this excursion, Potter? Or did you pull me out of bed just to insult my apparel?”

“No,” Harry replied, sobering and running his fingers through his hopelessly wild hair. “I…I wanted to say…that is…” Taking a slow breath, he licked his lips and raised his chin as though in determination. “Let me help you.”

“ _Help_ me,” Draco repeated incredulously. “Help me what?”

“Let me help you escape Voldemort,” Harry clarified, his eyes firmly locked on Draco’s.

It was quite possible that Draco had never been so taken aback as he was in this moment, feeling dazed as though the world were reorienting itself about him. “I…you’re not serious. What reason would I _possibly_ have to trust you, Potter? What reason would you have to trust _me?_ ” he asked, shaking his head in denial even as his heart raced with a small burst of adrenaline.

This point was more than fair. The Potters and Malfoys were notoriously and quite _publicly_ ill-favoured toward one another and had been for over a decade, to the point where they were often referred to as adversaries in polite conversation. Both Lucius Malfoy and James Potter were men of means from old, powerful families, but where Lucius appealed to refinement and tradition and Old World sensibilities, James was genuinely likeable and a truly gifted wizard of the Modern Age. Even without the weight of war that now loomed oppressively overhead, they had found themselves at odds for years while trying to move the Ministry machine in their favour. James’ push for werewolf rights had been an especially brutal battle between them some years back, as had Lucius’ push for the dismissal of Rubeus Hagrid at Hogwarts.

“Don’t trust me,” Harry told him seriously. “Trust my motives and I’ll trust yours. I know you’d do anything to protect your family…that evidence is clear. Trust that I’ll do whatever it takes to stop Voldemort in the end.”

Draco was silent for a long while as he considered this, weighing the extremely limited options he found himself presented with. In all the endgames he’d considered since Harry had revealed his mark that afternoon, never once had he considered this possibility among them. Though he supposed that he should have…Harry had already shown himself to have a saviour complex over the years, usually directed toward Neville Longbottom and the rest of his Gryffindor pets. It rankled Draco’s pride to think that Harry had now identified _him_ as his next poor victim in need of a daring rescue.

The real problem was that Harry knew the truth about him and would likely suss out the task he’d been given before long, being the _insufferable sneak_ that he was. He’d never cast a memory charm before and would more than likely scramble what little brains the Seeker had, which would land him in an even worse predicament. Aunt Bella had given him enough lessons in the Dark Arts before her untimely death at the hands of Sirius Black that he’d become proficient at the Imperius Curse, but Harry had already proven resistant to that in their fourth year; the attempt would likely cause his offer to be withdrawn less than cordially. Closing his eyes briefly, Draco focused on his Occlumency training to clear his thoughts, examining everything again before letting out a small, defeated sigh.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Are you _mad?_ ” Draco hissed furiously at Harry and caught his arm beneath the Invisibility Cloak, pulling him roughly to a halt in the corridor outside the office of their Head of House. “We can’t go to _Snape_. He’s-” Draco hesitated a moment, but then again, why not? If Snape killed Harry, Draco could probably manage to make some excuse about bringing him there for knowing too much. “He’s a _Death Eater_ , you idiot!”

Harry blinked at him, caught off guard, and then gave him a lopsided grin in the darkness. “Yeah, about that… Just...come on already, I’ll explain it later. I know what I’m doing.”

He was not, in fact, confident in what he was doing at this precise moment in time. Lily Potter had always been adamant in assuring her children that Severus Snape could be trusted, while being equally clear that they must not speak of his work for the Order. Their father had been somewhat less steadfast in his support of the man, but he maintained that they would not have survived the war without intervention on Snape’s part. It was Snape who had turned when it mattered most, defecting to Dumbledore when he’d learned that Bellatrix Lestrange and a small group of Death Eaters had captured the Potters from Godric’s Hollow. Without that timely information, Dumbledore would never have been able to send Sirius after them, rescuing Lily and James before they lost their minds entirely from the torture inflicted upon them.

As it was, Harry’s mother still had occasional lapses in memory as a result of that horrible night. He had grown up having the same conversations with her on multiple occasions as though each were the first, hating to upset her when Lily realized she’d failed to hold a memory. It always made Harry uncomfortable when Snape came to visit her, occasionally catching sight of the regret in his expression when no one was looking. Euphie, on the other hand, idolized the man in a way that made Harry extremely uneasy and took great pleasure in reminding her brother that without Snape he would certainly have died as well, stowed away in a cupboard where Lily had hidden him from their attackers.

“Snape probably isn’t even awake at this hour,” Draco whispered in protest, greatly regretting this decision. Being huddled so close to Harry under the cloak while also wary of being discovered left him feeling simultaneously overcrowded and exposed. “And he certainly has no reason to be in his _office_ instead of his _bed_ , where we should be.”

“In his bed?” Harry murmured in mock horror, making a face. “Not on your life.”

Face heating, Draco’s voice rose somewhat in volume. “That is _not_ what I-“

“He is,” Harry whispered quickly, cutting him off. “In his office and awake. I already checked. He’s usually up all night on the new moon for his potions, even now that he’s finally got the Dark Arts job. Same with a lot of the moon phases, actually… I imagine it’s partly why he’s always so foul in classes.”

“Your ability to stalk others is truly unnerving, Potter,” Draco muttered, eyeing him.

Grabbing hold of Draco’s arm, Harry pulled the hesitant wizard along after him, taking a breath and knocking on Snape’s office door. A few moments later, their Head of House pulled open the door sharply, his black eyes narrowing at the seemingly empty corridor as light from his office spilled out over nothing. Harry lifted the edge of the cloak to reveal their faces and Snape’s face hardened with suspicion.

“Potter,” Snape sneered, his lip curling. “And…Malfoy. Neither of you appears to be _bleeding_ , so I simply cannot imagine why the pair of you might be darkening my doorstep _after curfew_. Honestly I expect this sort of reckless behaviour from Potter, but I rather thought more highly of you, Draco.”

“We need to speak with you, sir,” Harry said quickly. “Privately. And immediately.”

“Do you indeed? Already I find myself regretting the decision to name you Captain, Potter. But by all means, come in then,” Snape said coldly, stepping back to allow them into the office. “I’m most eager to hear why I should not be awarding you both detention until Christmas of _next year_.”

Harry could feel Draco’s glare burning at the back of his head, but steadfastly marched into Snape’s office, drawing the cloak fully off of them and bunching it up. As he’d suspected, Snape had a number of cauldrons in varying sizes and materials on nearly every available surface and the former Potions Master moved to one as soon as the door was closed, stirring it counter-clockwise for a few moments before turning to face them.

“Well?” he asked sharply, displeasure radiating off of him as he looked between them.

Draco folded his arms and gestured at Harry when the Seeker glanced his way. “This is your stupid plan, Potter. Go on, then.”

Harry sighed and glared at him, then turned his gaze toward Snape and squared his shoulders stubbornly. “We need the Order’s help,” he said firmly.

Snape’s already sallow skin paled further and he moved swiftly forward to catch Harry sharply by his upper arm, his grip punishingly tight as he leaned in and hissed at him. “Have you taken _complete leave of your senses?_ ” he demanded, drawing his wand and training it on Draco, who froze in the act of drawing his own. “Do. Not. Move.”

“Mum told me that I could trust you should the need arise,” Harry told him, his green eyes bright with defiance even as his heart hammered in his chest.

Snape’s black eyes widened and then narrowed in anger, his fingers claw like in their grip on Harry’s arm. Thrusting the Seeker away from him, he turned on Draco fully, wand still held upon him. “What does he know, Draco?”

Pale and wide-eyed, Draco glanced at Harry briefly before looking back at the furious professor, swallowing thickly. “He knows I’ve taken the Dark Mark.”

“Nothing of the task the Dark Lord has given you?” Snape challenged him.

Harry frowned and looked at Draco questioningly, not having considered that he might already be under orders from Voldemort, but the other wizard refused to meet his eyes and only shook his head curtly. Some of the angry tension seemed to ease out of Snape at that and he spoke more calmly, his words weighted in a way that Harry couldn’t quite understand, though a sense of danger prickled at the base of his skull.

“Would you defy the Dark Lord, Draco? Or would you serve his purpose?” Snape asked, holding his gaze.

Draco could feel the press of Legilimency against the barriers of his mind and stood fast, steeling himself as he looked back into the void of Snape’s black eyes. Hands fisting at his sides, he straightened indomitably, jaw firm. “I would save my family.”

None of them moved for the span of several heartbeats, then at last, Snape lowered his wand and sighed. “You don’t understand what it is you’re asking, either of you. There will be no turning back from this…and you may come to regret the price,” he told them seriously, looking between them. “I hope you are prepared for what comes next.”

They returned to the dungeons with the explicit instruction to meet their Head of House in the Headmaster’s office come first light and were even given the password of ‘ice mice’. Draco wondered if this gift of knowledge, having the ability to go now into the Headmaster’s office while the old wizard was surely asleep and vulnerable to attack, was a final test on Snape’s part. Despite Harry’s confidence in Snape’s duplicity, Draco was having a hard time reconciling the idea of Severus Snape on the side of the Muggle-loving Dumbledore. His father had always spoken highly of Snape, as had the Dark Lord himself over the summer, so how had he misled them all this time? On the other hand, if he was actually Voldemort’s man, how was it Snape was able to deceive _Albus Dumbledore_? Sentimental fool he might be, but the wizard was famously powerful.

Trying to guess at Snape’s motivations was even more draining after a day of wondering what Harry would do with the knowledge of the Dark Mark and he sighed tiredly, causing Harry to jump at the ghost of breath on his neck under the cloak. Impressive as Harry’s Invisibility Cloak might be, it really wasn’t suited for the movement of two wizards a hair’s breadth from adulthood. Draco slid out from under the cloak the moment they were back in the common room, having been far too close to Harry for far too long.

“I’ll meet you back here in the morning,” Draco told him, eager to try and get a few hours rest before they dug this hole ever deeper.

“Malfoy,” Harry called softly as he drew off his cloak, halting Draco’s progress toward the dormitories. “Thank you…for trusting me. For…doing all this. I know that you’re taking a risk.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment, his grey eyes inscrutable in the dim light of the empty common room. “Why do you care so much?” he wondered. “Why go through the trouble?”

“I…I don’t know,” Harry admitted, surprising himself. It should have been an easy answer, because defeating Voldemort once and for all had been the undercurrent of his entire childhood. But…it honestly didn’t feel so simple as that when he stopped to look at it more closely.

“You’ve just exposed two Death Eaters who are irrevocably bound to one of the most dangerous wizards the world has ever known,” Draco said incredulously, his voice pitched low despite that they were alone. “Without even taking the precaution to ensure we aren’t fully aware that you’ve told _no one_ else, I might add. And yet you have no idea as to _why?_ ”

Harry flushed and adjusted his glasses, as he was wont to do when flustered. “We’ve always made a good team, even as enemies,” he said slowly after thinking it over a moment, as though he were sorting through his thoughts. “We play better together because we push each other further than we’d go on our own. I think working together now, we might have a chance, you know? But if you’re with him, with Voldemort…there’s some lines that can’t be crossed. So I can’t…I _won’t_ let him take you.”

“This may be somewhat more challenging than _Quidditch_ , Potter,” Draco told him, too tired for the sarcasm to bite the way he’d intended. It left him sounding more defeated than he wanted just then. “I’m not… _yours_. I’m not one of those adoring little soldiers in your pet army. I don’t need you to _save_ me. You do realize that, don’t you?”

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Harry said gruffly and, scowling at the insinuation, vanished beneath his Invisibility Cloak once more.

Draco was hardly the first to ever imply that he had a hero complex, but it bothered Harry to think that Draco might honestly believe that it was the only reason for trying to help him now. He tried not to think too hard about the _why_ of that as he slipped back into the dormitory silent and unseen, keeping the cloak in place until he was back in his bed. Tucking the shimmering fabric beneath his pillow, he didn’t bother to change back into his nightclothes, lying atop the covers instead and staring up into his canopy. Harry could hear the faint sounds of Draco returning to his own bed a few moments later and sighed softly, pulling off his glasses to rub tiredly at his eyes.

He thought that sleep would be far from his mind with the anticipation of what was to happen roiling in his belly, but he started awake a few hours later when a hand shook at his shoulder. Dark dreams of flying and fighting and Dark Wizards laughing in the bowels of the Ministry fell away, but left Harry tense and ready to defend himself from attackers unseen. Grasping automatically for his wand, Harry stilled when his glasses were pushed into his hand instead, waking fully and finding the pale blur of Draco’s face in the darkness.

“Come on,” Draco whispered to him, not noticing or at least not mentioning his brief moment of panic. “We’ll be late.”

They didn’t speak as they quickly and quietly made their way up through the castle to Dumbledore’s office. Though they were no longer breaking curfew, technically speaking, they still huddled awkwardly together under the Invisibility Cloak rather than risk being seen together at this hour. However uncomfortable it was to be walking close enough to share body warmth in the chill morning air, having to come up with a suitable explanation would be far more so. Harry drew the cloak off of them when they came to the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office and Draco quickly stepped a respectable distance away from him, looking pale and anxious.

Feeling rather grim himself, Harry cleared his throat and looked at the gargoyle. “Ah…ice mice?” he asked, making Draco sigh rather petulantly at him.

“No longer confident in your brilliant plans, Potter?” he muttered snidely, watching as the gargoyle hopped aside to let them pass.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped at him, letting his irritation bolster his nerve as he started forward. “Whatever happens is still _entirely_ your fault, in the end.”

Draco’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t argue the point as he followed Harry up the stairs, stopping just behind him when the Seeker raised a fist to knock at the door. A voice bade them enter from within and Draco swallowed reflexively as Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside, drawing an unsteady breath. It exploded out of him in a rush of surprise as a Full-Body Bind hit Harry squarely in the chest and he snapped to attention, then fell heavily to the floor. Draco fumbled for his wand as his heart thundered in his ears, so that he almost couldn’t hear the calm, clear voice that greeted him.

“Good evening, Draco,” Dumbledore greeted him, leaning up against his desk. “Or rather, I believe it would be more appropriate to say ‘good morning’. Please…come in.”

Wand in hand, Draco stepped forward stiffly, like a marionette being pulled on its strings, stepping carefully over Harry’s frozen body. Snape came into view once he was inside, his wand out and trained on the Headmaster. With a small flick of Snape’s bony fingers, the door closed sharply behind Draco, closing off their tableau from the outside wold.

“Now, Draco,” Snape hissed at him, his dark eyes intent. “Now is your final opportunity to complete your task. Or must I do everything myself?”

“W-what?” Draco asked, looking between professor and headmaster in turn, his knuckles white about his wand.

“It would seem that Professor Snape made the Unbreakable Vow to ensure the completion of your task, Draco,” Dumbledore explained almost kindly, his clever blue eyes remaining fixed on Draco. “I am unarmed and we are relatively alone. I think you would be unlikely to lose much sleep over the loss of Mister Potter, given your history. The perfect chance to do what must be done and win Lord Voldemort’s favour, should you wish.”

“Raise your wand!” Snape snapped at him, his voice cracking like a whip through the stillness of the room.

Flinching, Draco raised his wand in an unsteady hand, training it on the old man with his ludicrous magenta robes and kind blue eyes and trying to remember that Dumbledore was thought to be the greatest wizard of the age. “I…I don’t…”

Snape stepped forward and dropped a heavy hand on Draco’s shoulder, squeezing. “I have all but presented this moment to you on a _platter_ , Draco. _Do it._ ”

“I’m dying, Draco,” Dumbledore admitted gently, granting him everything, _everything_ he needed to overcome the hesitation freezing the Killing Curse in his throat. “Regardless of your actions now, I will succumb to the curse that is slowly eating away at my body in a matter of months. One could even argue that you would be doing a kindness.”

He could do it. Draco could succeed where he was supposed to have failed, prove himself among the Death Eaters and restore his family’s honour in the eyes of the Dark Lord. Without Dumbledore, who would be left to stop them from succeeding in this war? Neville Longbottom, the Chosen One? His father would be so proud of him; he wouldn’t have to know that Dumbledore had practically begged Draco to do it. And Harry…Harry with his arrogant grin and idyllic dreams of heroism would lie there helplessly and watch as Draco became a _murderer_.

“I…” Draco’s vision blurred with tears and his wand arm dropped, the wood slipping through nerveless fingers to clatter on the floor. “I _can’t_.” He lowered his face shamefully as he choked on a sob, failure and frustration and _relief_ flooding through him in waves.

Snape’s hand tightened on his shoulder a moment, then relaxed as he stepped away from him, waving his wand at Harry to break the binding before he put the slender length of wood back into his robes. Coming forward as Harry gasped and surged to his feet, Dumbledore put his hands on Draco’s arms and squeezed gently, smiling warmly in satisfaction.

“Well done, Draco,” he told him. “Well done indeed. I apologize for forcing your hand in such a way, but when Severus came to tell me that you wished to turn, I had to be certain that you understood. You aren’t a killer…you never have been.”

“What the _bloody hell_ is going on?!” Harry demanded, brandishing his own wand now and waving it at all of them as though unsure where the threat now lay.

“Harry, my boy, all will be explained, I can assure you,” Dumbledore said smoothly. “If you would please lower your wand, we can sit and discuss it like reasonable men. You played a dangerous gambit tonight and I commend your bravery. It is clear why you gave the Sorting Hat such trouble in selecting your house.”

Draco scrubbed at his face while Dumbledore soothed Harry’s frazzled nerves and stroked his ego, though the fat headed Seeker hardly needed it. Taking a slow breath, he composed himself once more, finding the familiar mask of the pureblood prince to cover up how shaken he still was. He had utterly failed and now had no choice but to succeed as a traitor. His life, and his family, depended on that now. Glancing over at Snape, he thought he saw pity and understanding there in equal measure and recognized that there was some dark part of the man that had hoped for a brief moment that Draco would end it.

“Tea, I think,” Dumbledore mused, turning away from Draco and returning to his desk to pick up a small, crystal bell. He rang it once and a table laden with tea service and a number of sweets laid itself out neatly near the fireplace. Humming in satisfaction, he walked over to the spread and selected a toffee, popping it into his mouth while a delicate teapot filled the cups. “Yes, that will do quite nicely. If you would all please join me.”

Harry hesitated, his ears ringing faintly with the shock of all that had just happened, but he finally put away his wand with a frustrated sigh. Stepping forward, he stooped and picked up Draco’s wand from where it had fallen, straightening to offer it to him. Draco stared at him uncomprehending for a long moment, completely taken aback by the simple gesture, but then took it carefully with a nod of gratitude. They took their seats at the conjured table with Dumbledore and Snape, who looked exceedingly uncomfortable surrounded by sweets and delicate floral china.

“Now then, Harry,” Dumbledore began once he’d taken a slow sip of tea, to which he had added far more sugar than was reasonable. No one else touched their cups. “As you may have surmised, Draco was not simply made a Death Eater over the summer. He was given a very specific task.”

“Assassination,” Harry said slowly, looking at Draco, who in turn stared down at his tea. “He was supposed to kill you.”

“He was supposed to _try_ ,” Dumbledore corrected him. “And to fail, possibly even to die in the attempt. No matter the outcome, Lord Voldemort’s purpose would be served. Either he would do the improbable and I would be removed from the board, or Lucius Malfoy would suffer the loss of his son, to death or to Azkaban.”

“And you,” Harry realized, looking accusingly at Snape, uncaring that his tone was clearly insolent. “You already _knew_ what he was from the start! What he had to do!”

Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Of course I knew, Potter,” he spat, folding his arms. “The Dark Lord keeps me informed of all matters involving Hogwarts.”

“And Snape clearly told _you_ ,” Harry continued, glaring at Dumbledore now. “Yet neither of you did _anything!_ You were just, what? Going to sit back eating sweets while Malfoy worked a noose round his neck?” He slammed a hand on the table angrily, making the china rattle.

“He said you made the Unbreakable Vow,” Draco broke in, his toneless voice cutting through Harry’s heated words.

“Narcissa came to me on your behalf before the start of term,” Snape explained as he looked at Draco, whose eyes remained on his teacup. “I am sworn to help you in your task, or to complete it myself.”

“Severus is the most loyal and most valuable member of the Order I have,” Dumbledore said casually, as though the statement didn’t hold enormous weight behind it. “He was quite prepared to die protecting us both, but as fate would have it, such sacrifice will not be necessary. My life is coming to an end without any assistance from Lord Voldemort and Severus has already agreed to assist me when the time is right, ensuring that he will be able to continue to fight in my stead.”

“Albus…” Snape said softly and it was clear from the warning in his tone that he already felt the old wizard had told them far more than was wise.

Dumbledore pressed on, sitting forward to look at Draco earnestly. “I was unwilling to compromise his position by revealing our hand to you, Draco, and for that I apologize. I, of course, hoped that we might be able lead you from this path when the time came, but it seems that Harry has worked far more efficiently than we could have imagined.”

“Then you’ll help him?” Harry asked, torn between hope and caution now. The whole situation had left him feeling wary of Snape and Dumbledore both.

“I will,” Dumbledore affirmed, inclining his head. “But I will need something from you in return.”

“From me?” Harry asked in surprise.

“From both of you, I think,” he clarified and took another sip of his overly sugared tea.

Harry understood suddenly that he hadn’t really freed Draco at all. Looking at the bleak expression on Draco’s face, he knew that he wasn’t alone in this thinking and when grey eyes met his at last, they held a mild admonishment that Harry would dare to be surprised. _Nothing_ in life came without a price and Harry made a poor example of his house not to have seen it coming. For all his good intentions, Harry had just enlisted them both into the service of Albus Dumbledore.

“I need you to procure me a memory.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter warnings: Mentions of past torture, mentions of trauma associated with torture (transient amnesia).


End file.
